


Rules and Regulations

by Toothpaste_Fresh



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: (They are brief but you have been warned), (starting in 1862 and moving forward from there), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Body Swap (Good Omens), Angels can sense love, Angst, Aziraphale and Crowley Through The Ages (Good Omens), Aziraphale-centric (Good Omens), M/M, Sad Ending, Scene: Aziraphale's Trial in Heaven (Good Omens), Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:47:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,935
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22851967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Toothpaste_Fresh/pseuds/Toothpaste_Fresh
Summary: Heaven has a lot to say on how an angel should be.Aziraphale's relationship with heaven, and how it pertains to a certain demon named Crowley.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Rules and Regulations

**(LONDON, 1862)**

“This is something else. For if it all goes pear-shaped.”

Aziraphale likes pears, but that’s not really the point here. The point is what’s written on the tiny slip of paper Crowley has just handed him, on a lovely, duck-feeding day in Saint James’s Park. The point is locked behind fifty closed doors in his head and opening them would mean a lot of questioning. The question in specific is the Great Plan, which has written between its lines something he doesn’t want to happen, something he doesn’t want to think of. An angel does not question the Great Plan. They’re going to win after all, and it will be very nice. Crowley is trying to pry at those doors anyway, open up the possibility of a world without him. Aziraphale takes care to burn the paper with the words “holy water” etched on to it. It will never happen.

* * *

Aziraphale does not hear from Crowley after that.

He isn't worried of course, but he decides to check his flat anyway. It's important to keep an eye on one's adversaries, after all. 

Fortunately he doesn't find a flat filled with... whatever remains after a demon is killed. Just one Crowley, very thoroughly passed out in his room. 

Demons do not sleep. Neither do angels. It is written somewhere in Aziraphale’s many books on the occult. Of course, whoever wrote this must have never met Crowley. Aziraphale lets out a sigh of relief when he sees him. So he might have been a bit worried; what if Crowley _had_ found that holy water he’d asked for? What if someone had found out about the two of them? Aziraphale was always very careful. Angels and demons are never friends, they don’t care deeply for each other. Officially, Aziraphale and Crowley are nothing of the sort. In his reports up above he tells tales of a wily nemesis, who he is always thwarting and being thwarted by, so that is all they are on paper. What if someone reads between those lines? Neither heaven nor hell closely read the reports, but it would not be difficult if they did. Demons do horrible things to their own as it is, what do they do to traitors? Would he sense it if it happened? If Crowley was gone?

It hadn’t occurred to him that the demon had simply chosen to sleep through the past few weeks. He takes the blanket, crumpled and kicked off the bed, and tucks it neatly back over the sleeping demon. He is careful to watch for any occult forces as he leaves. Nemeses do not visit each other in their homes (well they do, but typically not in a peaceful manner), and it would not do well for either of them if they were spotted.

It does occur to Aziraphale after another week of silence that Crowley has been keeping plants in his home. So Aziraphale checks in once a week (for purposes of ensuring that his enemy is not causing any trouble, obviously) and waters the plants. He whispers words of encouragement to them, and he swells with pride as they grow to be spikey and intimidating, just as Crowley wants them. Crowley hasn’t heard of talking to plants yet, but he’d always assumed that the plants would stay lush and verdant without any work on his part. They do anyway, but a century would be a long time to go neglected, and the plants appreciate Aziraphale’s care. Aziraphale keeps at it, a bit unsure of himself each time. Crowley is a demon, after all, and demons don’t care about the welfare of their scary-looking houseplants. But Crowley, though he would never admit it, does care, so Aziraphale keeps coming back.

* * *

**(LONDON, A FEW YEARS PRIOR)**

Gabriel is walking along freshly polished floors, inspecting the new bookshop.

“It seems you’ve done a good job setting this material space up for an angelic presence, it feels almost ethereal.” It’s nothing compared to heaven, Gabriel’s restrained smile can tell Aziraphale that much, but its very kind of him to say it regardless. Angels are nothing, if not kind. “Of course it’s still earth though,” Gabriel chuckles, “not much you can do about that.” Aziraphale gives a little acknowledging smile but makes no more of a move to agree. He’s not sure how else to respond, and while he thinks of what to say Gabriel stops abruptly.

“What is that?” His head pulls back in disgust. It’s a bushel of thorny roses growing out of a cracked pot on his windowsill. Dirt is spilling over its sides and piling up around it. It used to belong to Crowley, until Aziraphale suggested that it might do better in the sun of his bookshop rather than the dark of Crowley’s apartment (to which Crowley only agreed if he could swing by the bookshop to ensure that it was being properly cared for, and Aziraphale could hardly object to that). For a moment Aziraphale’s heart stops. Did Gabriel sense a demonic presence in the roses? He rushes over to them.

“Oh! These are just some roses I am taking care of, they were in poor shape when I… found them, so I decided to nurse them back to health. We must find beauty in everything and… all of that.” It’s an argument Gabriel could hardly object to. Aziraphale waits for his reaction, a big, uncertain smile stretched across his face. He’s not lying, angels don’t lie, and nothing is wrong. His hands are fidgeting.

Finally, Gabriel speaks, his puzzled expression shifting to one that is understanding, “I see. Well it’s awfully filthy right now. I don’t know how you can stand to be near such a thing. Outstanding work you’re doing, in spite of the futility of it, seeing as it will so quickly rot away. But we have to find beauty even in the ugly things, don’t we? I can’t wait to see it once you’ve straightened out the wretched thing.” Gabriel checks his pocketwatch, “Ah would you look at the time. Well, there’s lots to do up in heaven, I’m sure you’ll be just fine down here.” Gabriel pats Aziraphale on the back and disappears, leaving Aziraphale alone in the new shop, reeling and relieved. That was a close. And oh dear, the plant, he’ll be expected to be true to his word, at least to how Gabriel interpreted it. He didn’t really want to change the plant, he didn’t really think it was all that ugly to begin with, but that’s what an angel would do, isn’t it?

* * *

**(FRANCE, 1916)**

Aziraphale does not particularly like France. London is his home, (though angels don’t really have a place of origin) and he misses it. Of course, part of this may have to do with the fact that he is in the midst of an active warzone. This war was meant to be quick, and he’d like it to be over with soon.

He worries about Crowley, he hasn’t been able to check up on him since the war began, and he hadn’t woken up before Aziraphale had left to fight. Is he alright? And what about his plants? Aziraphale really didn’t mean to be gone on this long, and he's itching to go back.

Hell might’ve finally called. Aziraphale has been covering for Crowley throughout his extended sleep, but he hasn’t been able to do much out here. A few small temptations here and there, but heaven has been paying close attention to his involvement in this war, and he doesn’t want to arouse suspicion. Besides, hell probably wants Crowley playing for the opposite side, and they might find it odd that all the temptations were occurring in the wrong army. Crowley could play it off that he was a spy or double agent, but that is very tricky to do while asleep in London.

Crowley might’ve woken up by now, and might be fighting somewhere across the trenches. Aziraphale has often found himself opposite Crowley at times like these, and he never particularly enjoys it (it reminds him of certain eventualities that he’d rather not think about). He is fairly certain that is not the case this time though. Angels are beings of positive energy, so they can feel the love in the world around them. He’s found that he can keep tabs on Crowley via the love that comes from him, even though demons officially do not experience such a thing. It is however, because Crowley is a demon, that Aziraphale does not mention this love, nor the being in question it is for. It would hurt Crowley’s pride, and endanger them both. Angels and demons do not love each other, after all. 

Aziraphale hopes Crowley has no part in this war. He hopes Crowley doesn’t have to see the horrors that the latest human innovations have brought to the battlefield. He’ll remind Crowley to take credit for artillery and machine guns later, right now he focuses on helping the soldiers in front of him, using up all the miracles he is allowed, watching helplessly when he cannot. He keeps all the strongly worded notes from Gabriel tucked neatly in his pocket as a reminder of his obligations. He’d love to break them, but he is an angel, and as such must obey heaven, even if right now he thinks their rules are so horrendously wrong.

* * *

When the second world war starts, Aziraphale decides he will have no part in the fighting. So when a British intelligence officer comes knocking after he turns two Nazis away, he jumps at the offer to help her. Angels do not lie, and so are not well-suited to being double agents, but as long as he is working for the side of good, heaven can hardly object, can they?

* * *

**(LONDON, 1941)**

“Are those… my roses?”

Crowley is back in the bookshop, after a very long time. Aziraphale doesn’t know how he’s managed to sleep for so long. He’s been too busy to check up on him for the past decade, heaven taking the global economic depression as a minor victory and major offence on hell’s part. As such heaven has had Aziraphale working twice as hard. He’s kept busy, being heaven's only agent on earth, travelling up to many harder-hit parts of the country, spreading hope where he can. He placed protective wards around Crowley’s old apartment in the meantime, in case anyone discovered hell’s only agent on earth and believed him responsible. It was risky, and if heaven had asked he didn’t have any explanation for doing so. Heaven’s never asked, perhaps assuming the building in question is an alternative headquarters or housing humans of importance. Heaven’s never cared to look that far between the lines. Angels don’t protect demons, angels are more than content to let them be destroyed by some justice-seeking individual seeking retribution. Of course, demons don’t save angels from half-witted Nazi spies either, but that’s what Crowley did anyways, after a near century of radio silence.

And now he’s back in the bookshop. Their relationship has been rather icy over the past 80 years, the last real conversation they had was at Saint James’s Park. Angels are not friends with demons, but Aziraphale cannot deny he is glad Crowley has popped back into his life.

“Ah yes, you lent them to me some time ago, I hope you don't mind how I have treated them.” Guilt strikes Aziraphale, he has spent a great deal of time sorting out the tangled rosebush, now not a thorn is out of place, not a mote of dirt where it shouldn’t be. It has lived a lot longer than it by all rights should have (Aziraphale does not know how long plants live, and thus because he expects it to, it remains alive). By heaven’s standards, it is close to perfect. But what is it by Crowley’s standards?

Crowley sniffs it, and wrinkles his nose, “Smells angelic, how long did you say it’s been here?”

“80 years, give or take a few”

“Well it’s certainly adjusted then, more yours than mine now really.” Aziraphale deflates a little at that. The point was never really to make it his, the point was to prove he could care for it, the point was it could be theirs. But angels and demons are too antithetical for any sort of thing to work between them, Aziraphale knows this. The thing is, Aziraphale has found so many of these truths to be less than accurate to how things really are. He was hoping this would be the same.

* * *

**(LONDON, 1967)**

“Should I say thank you?’

Aziraphale has just handed Crowley a thermos of something that could very well kill him. Even without the need to keep up appearances, Aziraphale does not think this favour deserves any thanks.

“Better not”

There are many things that Aziraphale wants. He wants to trust that the tartan thermos he has just given Crowley will not be used in the way he fears most. He wants to accept the car ride that Crowley has offered him in exchange. He wants to not have to hide his relationship with Crowley, to not have to rely on metaphors and things unsaid to communicate how he feels. Heaven’s rules dictate that he cannot be like that, that he and Crowley can only exist between the lines of what angels and demons should be. Aziraphale wants to be how he is, but he also wants to be how an angel should be. And these are not the same, no matter how much he wants them to be. 

So he declines the ride from Crowley, he’s taken too many risks for today. He makes his answer vague and open to interpretation, because he needs Crowley to understand the danger in them simply and openly existing together. He wants a world where he doesn’t have to navigate heaven’s rules to get to what he wants, but that is not the world he lives in.

“You go to fast for me, Crowley”

Angels do not sleep, and therefore do not have nightmares. Aziraphale finds sleep something of a waste of time, but that does not mean that for the next fifty years images of puddles and empty thermoses do not cross his mind.

* * *

**(LONDON, 1979)**

Aziraphale can’t help but feel out of place as he stands stiff and prim amidst the music and dancing of this night club. He doesn’t know these latest dance trends and is rather afraid of how he’ll look if he tried. Angels don’t dance, it is written somewhere, perhaps on a memo from Gabriel, perhaps because Gabriel had tried dancing once, and managed to faceplant inelegantly on the floor. Aziraphale had always admired dancing, always wanted to try, despite what heaven said. He knows the gavotte now, a small rebellion. But he doesn’t think the gavotte will fit well with all these other people doing the… is it disco these days? He continues to stand uncomfortably, until he notices someone familiar.

It’s Crowley, of course he’d be here. This is clearly his scene, and he’s doing much better here than Aziraphale, dressed to fit right in, and dancing terribly. The terrible part only applies to Crowley. Most people here seem to range from decent to impressive in skill, but Crowley dances like someone who doesn’t know how limbs are supposed to move, his shoulders and hips rotating too far to be possible for any normal person, his arms and legs waving as if joints do not exist. It is an absolute mess, and Crowley looks to be having the time of his life. He notices Aziraphale, his expression brightens, then he slinks his way over.

“Aziraphale! What brings you here? Didn’t think this was your scene.”

Aziraphale, rather relieved to have found someone to talk to, responds.

“Well I was supposed to be meeting someone here, about an hour ago actually, but they seem to have failed to show up.”

“Really? What for? Doesn’t seem like the place for an antique book deal.”

“No no it isn’t… No I was looking to make some new connections as it were, expand my… um… network of human operatives.”

“Well no sense in waiting any longer, their loss.” Crowley extends a hand, temptingly, “Care to dance?”

Aziraphale stops. There aren’t any heavenly agents here other than him, he should be safe, it should be easy for him just to accept the offer. But there are alarms ringing in his head. Angels don’t dance! (Demons do). And angels definitely do not dance with demons. Aziraphale knows he can dance, it took him two years to work up the courage to learn the gavotte, but he knows now that he can do it. Why can’t he just do this? No one is watching and this rule doesn’t mean anything! Angels do not break rules, angels do not _want_ to break rules.

Crowley is looking at him, with an eyebrow raised and a mischievous smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll teach you some of my moves, afraid you’ll be tarnished with horrible evil?”

No, that’s not it, but it is something Aziraphale would say. Crowley is teasing him, but he can hear the bit of hurt in his voice too. He keeps looks up, then around the room again. Nobody is watching, it is safe. His eye catches on two men dancing together, and Aziraphale, angel as he is, can sense the love between them. Nobody is bothering them here, but he knows the rest of the world is not as kind. He’d like to be like them, he thinks, he’d like to find a way to be as he were in spite of his fears, but he can't even allow himself that when it is safe. There are rules that he isn’t ready to break yet, but he knows that he can dance.

Aziraphale is not Crowley, and more bound by the rules of the human body than his more snakelike counterpart. This does not make their dancing look any better. Both Aziraphale and Crowley attempt to dance, and look like utter fools in doing so. It’s one of the best nights they’ve ever had.

* * *

**(LONDON, ELEVEN YEARS BEFORE THE END OF THE WORLD)**

“No more fascinating little restaurants where they know you. No gravlax with dill sauce. No more old bookshops…”

Armageddon is coming. Aziraphale should be happy about this, but it’s rather hard to while Crowley is listing all the things that won’t be in heaven after it’s all over. There’s one thing he’s omitting, of course, one being. Surely Crowley knows how he feels, it’s not written, but it’s there between it all. Surely Crowley knows that if Armageddon were to happen the way heaven wants it, there’d be someone else he’d miss. But angels do not worry about the fates of fellow demons.

Once again, Crowley is prying open doors Aziraphale does not want to open. He has been worried about this since 1967, since 1862, since an incredibly long time ago. Aziraphale doesn’t sleep, but as the next eleven years pass, unwanted dreams do come. Sometimes, while in the midst of a good book, he’ll find those unwanted thoughts have slipped their boundaries and crossed his mind. Sometimes he’ll find himself under a white sky on a battlefield in a world that has ended, holding a burning sword levelled at his friend’s chest. Sometimes he’ll find himself under a black sky instead. Sometimes he'll find himself looking up at Crowley, who is pointing his own weapon towards Aziraphale, trying not to shake. Angels and demons do not love each other, they kill each other.

It is much later that Aziraphale will realize that his book has slipped from his grasp and onto his lap or the floor. He’ll tsk, “Well that won’t do at all.” Then he’ll put the book away and open his shop up to speak with or scare away some customers, or he’ll take a walk through London and perform a few frivolous miracles, solving small problems for the humans around him, praying that heaven doesn’t notice, or he’d call Crowley and they’d go to the park or the Ritz or some new restaurant that Aziraphale has been dying to try. And whatever book he’d been reading would likely not be opened again until much much later.

* * *

**(LONDON, SIX YEARS BEFORE THE END OF THE WORLD)**

“Why should you be the gardener? You hardly know a thing about proper plant care!”

It’s been five years. If they’re going to start mentoring the antichrist, they’ll have to get to it soon. The main points of the plan were determined years ago, but the finer details, it seems, have yet to be resolved.

“I’d say that most plants prefer not to endure the wrath of a shouting demon hm?” Aziraphale sips his wine, because planning is an excellent social activity and sometimes the best ideas come after a bit of alcohol nudges them out.

A look of surprise briefly flashes across Crowley’s face, not realizing Aziraphale had caught on to his plant abuse, as if anyone could see those poor dears and not realize what he was doing to them. He quickly hides this and grumbles, “well it’s the only way to get them growing right.”

“You are the one who’s supposed to be mentoring him yes? I think a nanny would be a much better suited position for that sort of thing. Besides, I did care for your plants for the near century you decided to sleep. I think I’ll manage.”

“That was more miracle-work than proper plant care and you know it. You’re the angel, you’re supposed to be better at this whole nurturing thing, why don’t you be the nanny?” Crowley must be rather annoyed at the idea of Aziraphale bungling up the gardening, because he is taking heaven’s notion of what angels should be and turning them against him, daring Aziraphale to challenge them.

“Ah yes, because I’m the one who’s better with children.” The sarcasm is there, enough that Crowley can hear it, but enough that Aziraphale would deny it should anyone choose to confront him.

Crowley scowls, but Aziraphale knows how to make this more appealing, he continues,

“Well, if I truly am as terrible a gardener as you believe, then I suppose I’ll need someone to help me take care of the plants properly as you say. Surely you, as the nanny, could find some time to assist me.”

Crowley pauses, and thinks.

“It’d be a good time for covert strategizing,” he says. _Good for spending time together too_ , is what he doesn’t say, and Aziraphale knows enough to listen so that he doesn’t need to.

Aziraphale nods, and they move on to discussing their disguises. They are in good spirits, neither of them thinking hard on what will happen if this plan does not work (it has been carefully pushed into the backs of their minds). Not much point in planning for that anyway.

* * *

**(LONDON, THE END OF THE WORLD)**

The bus reaches Crowley’s apartment, and Aziraphale holds his hand. He does not look over his shoulder as they walk in side-by-side, because there is no reason to hide things anymore. There is no more uncertainty about whether heaven or hell will find out, because they have found out. It is, in a way, rather freeing. There is a new uncertainty now, of what the future might hold. Neither Aziraphale nor Crowley sleep yet. Angels and demons do not sleep, and as such heaven or hell could strike at any time. Aziraphale is an angel, and being a being who can sense love, he can sense the fraying of what little love heaven held for him. He says as much, with his worries implied because some of the things he is afraid of are still locked tightly away in his mind, and hard to say out loud.

“Hell is angry. Well, they always are, but getting angrier now, that’s what they’re doing.” Crowley sags into Aziraphale, his glasses are off because it is just the two of them. Aziraphale puts his arms around him, providing what comfort he can. If he looked into his eyes, Aziraphale would see the worry in them, but he can hear it in Crowley’s voice regardless. They hold onto each other, because they don’t know how long this will last. Aziraphale looks out to Crowley’s apartment, full of mementos from Crowley’s life, and as such mementos of their life together. He wonders how they will get out of things this time, and here’s the problem:

In this world, Agnes Nutter did not write a final prophecy about choosing your faces wisely, because when she looked into the future she did not see a world in which an angel and a demon switched places (which only happened in the first place because she wrote the aforementioned prophecy, making this all rather paradoxical). In this world, Adam did not think to put Aziraphale or Crowley under his protection, because the pair really didn’t do much in the whole “stopping-the-apocalypse” matter, and scapegoat is a term he’s heard Pepper use but doesn’t quite understand. Sometimes, a solution that's obvious after the fact is nearly impossible to come by without a nudge in the right direction. Aziraphale thinks well into the night, until Crowley has fallen asleep against him. It looks very tempting, and soon he falls asleep too. Angels and demons do not sleep, unless they have had a very long, and very emotionally charged day.

When he wakes up, he is in the bookshop again, Adam has reset the world, and Aziraphale has been slotted back into his place. He gets himself up and brushes himself off. He thinks for a moment on what to do, then calls up a taxi, (without a miracle, he does not want to invoke heaven’s ire further), and takes himself to Saint James’s Park, their usual rendezvous. They need to meet, they need to decide what to do next.

Aziraphale sits nervously on a park bench, watching a woman and her daughter order some ice cream from across the path, when he sees Crowley sauntering briskly towards him. He breathes a sigh of relief, glad that Crowley also thought to come here, glad that Crowley is still alright. He gets up, and they both go to order from the ice cream stand. Angels and demons have no desire for food, so it would usually be under the pretense of keeping appearances that they each take an ice cream. But neither of them really care who is watching anymore, they are on their own side now. And they need to figure out what their future will entail.

Aziraphale has given this some thought (the night before had allowed much time for thinking). Alpha Centauri has always been an option, but that would mean abandoning the world they’ve fought so hard for. It was an option when the world was going to end, because with no world to come back to, the star system was a far better option than anything else. But there is a world here, with humans to keep it interesting and changing faster than any star system could. Someday they’ll go there, Aziraphale thinks, but it will have to be once the pace of this world has slowed, and that is not anytime soon. They could find Adam instead, see if he can help with their situation, if they can help him take care of the earth. Evidence so far suggests their respective sides are not taking this peace well, they will undoubtably try to break it.

But when they turn to walk away, Aziraphale finds himself gagged and dragged off before he has a chance to react. He watches as Crowley takes off after him, shouting, trying to bring this obvious abduction to the attention of everyone around him. It doesn’t work, everyone’s gazes miraculously slide around the angels taking him away. It doesn’t last long either, Aziraphale’s heart sinks as pedestrians-turned-demons knock Crowley out and drag him down. Angels do not fight other angels, but neither are they in the business of kidnapping their coworkers. Aziraphale kicks and struggles against the angels dragging him off, panicked and despairing (though officially angels do not feel those sort of things). That is until Sandalphon turns around, and snaps his fingers, then he doesn’t feel anything.

* * *

**(HEAVEN, THE VERY FIRST DAY OF THE REST OF THEIR LIVES)**

“I bet you didn’t see this one coming.”

It’s hot in here. Aziraphale is far closer to a column of hellfire than he’d like to be. Aziraphale has not been chained up, because all angels trust that heaven is fair in its judgements, and would never try to run. He is tied to a chair, however, because Aziraphale is a traitor, and because the previously stated “fact” was never really one baked into their being.

Aziraphale would really more than anything like to get far away from this hellfire, in fact he’d really appreciate it if the demon who summoned it could kindly put it out. He knows that won’t happen. He knows that heaven has decided that he is better off out of the picture. And he understands, he’s been a terrible angel, really, and a real thorn in the whole apocalypse matter. At least it’s been stopped, he thinks, at least earth still gets a chance. He doesn’t think of Crowley because there are fifty closed doors barring any thought like that, because he watched as Crowley was kidnapped too.

He was right to fear their relationship being discovered, look at this mess. Though it may have more to do with Armageddon delayed and needing someone to blame for it more than their love for each other. Not that heaven approves, if anything their love is all the more reason to punish Aziraphale. He and Crowley haven’t ever been enemies, and now that heaven knows it, Aziraphale can say it too. It’s liberating, even if it's the end of the line for them.

The ropes are released, and he gets up. He is an angel, and somewhere in the rules it says that angels don’t fight back. He is free to choose his doom. Heaven doesn’t have executions, but they do make examples of traitors. He walks with slow intent, trying so hard to be confident, he balls his hands up to stop them from nervous fiddling. The air is so hot here, like sitting far too close to a bonfire on a cool summer evening. Every inch of him wants to turn back, because he is an angel, and it isn’t written anywhere, but angels are hardwired with the instinct to avoid hellfire, instincts programmed to avoid the things that kill them.

(He also wants to turn back because he doesn’t want to leave the world yet, because it’s still there and there's so much left of it to be experienced, and there's someone he doesn't want to leave behind)

And it’s his choice, yes there's so much pressure to choose right but _it's still his choice_. No one will push him in the flames because that’s not what angels do. Even though he isn’t a good angel, Aziraphale wants to be, even though he knows heaven doesn’t care, even though he knows they never will. He will do this because it is what an angel is supposed to and part of him still wants to be how an angel is supposed to be.

He hates how helpless he is as he takes another step forward, fully knowing that this will only hurt him, fully knowing he is still under the control of who heaven wants him to be.

He’s close enough to trip and fall in, when he feels something change. A constant love, one he’s felt towards him for a very long time, suddenly disappears, like a candle quietly snuffed out. Aziraphale shudders, and then… well if he can no longer sense it, the source of that love must be gone, and there’s only one being it could have come from, only one being who loved him so much and for so long. There’s only one thing that can mean.

Fifty doors that Aziraphale has kept steadfastly shut for as long as he can remember are breaking. There’s an ache forming in his chest and he’s still smiling, but it’s so very water thin, his eyes and mouth twitching. What was he to do if…? Could he have done something to stop this? The whole point of stopping Armageddon (aside from saving humanity) was to prevent a world where… a world where...

It seems he’d know if Crowley was gone after all.

It’d be so very easy to reach out to the fire now, he could do it, everyone else wants him to, and there isn’t anyone tethering him here anymore. All there is is a pain in his chest that hurts so much, pain that he could do without. He could join Crowley, though he wouldn’t actually be joining him because that’s not how any of it works. Angels don’t go anywhere when they die, and neither do demons. Crowley wouldn’t want this, but he is no longer here to stop him, now is he?

He looks to where the others are standing, a very far and very safe distance away. Gabriel is looking at him expectantly, Sandalphon is bored and Uriel just wants to get this over with. What will they do when he’s gone?

The angels here are getting rid of him because he stands in the way of earth’s destruction, he can see that much. There will still be Adam, of course, just one supernatural entity, just one small boy. How long will the peace last? Why, after all the lengths he has gone to, should heaven and hell be allowed to get their way?

He could turn around, he could walk away, and keep fighting for the world he loved. They’ve given him a choice after all, he would be choosing wrong, but would they stop him? He was a thorn in heaven’s side, no matter how hard he tried not to be. And what if he finally, actually turned against them?

It would mean facing a world without Crowley in it, it would mean facing the world he has never wanted to exist, it would not be easy.

There isn’t anyone here other than the three archangels a disposable demon. They might be too surprised to stop him. An angel would never directly disobey orders from heaven, not even for their own safety. An angel would never act contrary to the greater good. Because Aziraphale is an angel, he is expected to willingly walk into the fire.

There has always been a problem with these rules, however. Those who wrote them were not stating universal truths as they have so often been regarded. They’re more guidelines really. They state the way an angel should be in the eyes of heaven, regardless of how they are.

There are other truths, regardless of the way an angel is, will always be true. Aziraphale can walk into the hellfire, or pit himself against heaven. An angel can do neither of these things and expect to remain an angel, but one case is more true than the other. Aziraphale is still an angel through and through, he has never changed from that. But he never was much good at being an angel on heaven’s terms. And his own terms are an option now.

He turns and walks away.


End file.
